Property of Natasha
by A-Box-Of-Scraps
Summary: Clint wakes up, and rushes late to a meeting. Once there, he has a unexpected surprise. Question is, what will Natasha think? Clintasha fluff.


**Nothing naughty in this story, but some is implied. Only reason it's got the T rating. I own nothing, even the picture.**

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Clint woke up and reached for Natasha, but of course she wasn't there. She never was, never being one for 'Mornings after.' Besides, the Black Widow had jobs and duties to attend to before the sun rose at SHIELD, and didn't like to, quote, 'Waste time lying in bed for no good reason.' Still, he never quite got used to curling up in bed with his 'Tasha, then waking up without her. Clint ran a hand through his unruly hair, only making it even worse then before. He frowned, realizing that something square was stuck to his forehead. Blearily blinking the sleep from his eyes, Clint pulled the whatever-it-was off his head. It was a note from Natasha, written on a green post-it pad. He read it quickly.

_'Morning, Barton._

_We have a meeting a 7:30 this morning. Figured that you'd forget about it, even though we've known for a week, so I made you breakfast and laid out some clothes. Breakfast: table. Clothes: Chair. Nobody important, and your surely late, so don't bother with your hair or teeth, and just get to the meeting already. Which, by the way, is on the C-Deck conference room. Don't leave me hanging, here, since your screw ups reflect on me, as your partner._

_- Romanoff_

_P.S. Had fun last night.'_

Clint smiled. That was his Natasha alright. The grin grew a bit wider. Yes, Clint had lots of fun last night to. His Hawk-like age alighted on the wall clock. 7:25. Good gosh. Like a whirlwind, Clint blasted around the room in a panic, throwing on clothes, grabbing his bow, putting it back down, eating the omelette Natasha had set out, (since when could she cook?) and forgetting his teeth and hair, like she advised. I mean, he was late enough already. Trampling out the door and up the stairs, Clint didn't even glance at the clothes that she set out. Natasha had good judgment, right? On his frantic dash up the helicarrier stairs, Clint almost ran over Agent Hill.

Hill stared at him like Clint was something that had crawled out of the sewer, a huge wide-eyed look. That was unusual... but Clint didn't have time to deal with that now. Instead, he took the corner and kept on running. He made C-Deck, and trampled into the conference room. Deserted, except for a lone janitor sweeping the floor. The janitor did a double-take at Clint's appearance, spitting his coffee onto the conference room floor he had just finished. Beginning to suspect foul play, Clint looked suspiciously around for Natasha. Nobody but him and the janitor. However, there was a green sticky note stuck to the wall, so Clint pulled it off and read it.

_'Laughably late,_

_Turns out that I was wrong about the meeting. It IS at 7:30, just 7:30 on A-Deck... with Director Fury and a whole heck-of-a-lot of important people. Oops. Hurry there, don't want to be later then you probably already are. A-Deck elevators are under repair, so you have to take the stairs. Sadly, the stairs are being waxed, but you'll manage, right? By the way, I love you! And don't you ever forget it._

_- Sincerely Sorry'_

Perfect. Very suspicious, as Natasha didn't DO wrong. For some reason, she was either trying to keep him from the meeting, or trying to make him late for it. Clint glanced down at his watch. 7:35, right on the dot. Wonderful. He always wanted to turn up at a meeting with his boss late, and looking like a ragamuffin. There was something to scratch off ye olde bucket list. Clint took a deep breath, then dashed down the stairs to A-Deck, being careful on the newly-waxed floor. He took it as fast as he could, but trying to check his speed as to not slide out of control. Still, he managed to only fall twice. Hissing crossly, he wrenched open the door for the stairs and stepped out onto A-Deck. There was a big group of trainees waiting for their trainer in the lobby, all of which wheezed and gasped at Clint, some even started to snicker. He NEEDED to find a mirror, but for now he just needed to make it to this meeting.

Clint pulled open the door for the conference room, and stepped inside. There was Natasha, standing next to Fury, looking great in a long-sleeved SHIELD uniform with high collar, and dress pants. Her hair was neatly combed with a hair band, her nails freshly painted. Fury looked his normal, eye-patch, totally unnecessary trench coat.

What surprised him was everybody else. Yes, everybody else. Tony, Pepper, Steve, Bruce, Thor, pretty much all the avengers. Tony was clearly not paying attention whatsoever to Fury, and was wearing a scruffy AC-DC t-shirt and slacks, arc reactor glowing softly below the black shirt. Beside him, Pepper sat primly in a business suit, giving Tony a look that mixed disapproval with amusement, and fondness. Thor sat next to Pepper, on the other side, holding his ever-present hammer, and his familiar red cloak draped over the back of the chair. Bruce was doodling on the table with a washable marker, some sort of science thing Clint didn't understand at all. Steve had jeans and a grey t-shirt with the American flag on it, seemingly really bored. In other words, it was a totally ordinary mission briefing.

Totally routine.

Oh, Natasha was going DOWN.

None of the Avengers had seen Clint yet. He flopped into one of the chairs, letting out a puff of air to make himself known.

"Sorry I'm late. Slept in, then got wrong directions, fell down the waxed stairs, because the elevators out of order, then ran here. What did I miss?" Everybody in the room turned and looked at Clint.

"Elevators are not broken, friend Clint!" boomed Thor, not noticing anything out of the ordinary. Clint shot a cross look at his partner, but was ignored. Instead, Natasha looked Clint up and down, then nodded in approval. Bruce seemed to shocked to say much of anything, Pepper eyed Clint with mixed emotions, then sighed. Steve seemed to be scandalized, because his eyes widened in surprise, then quickly looked away. And Tony? Tony took one eyeful, and almost fell on his face in total hysterics. He was laughing so hard that he actually fell of his chair, and landed on the floor.

"Wh- wh... what?" demanded Clint, suddenly nervous, "Is my hair THAT bad?" Bruce snickered, Steve blushed, and Natasha smiled and didn't say anything. Ominous... Through his crazy laughter, Tony pointed to the full length mirror in the corner of the conference room, totally unable to speak. Full of apprehension, Clint approached the mirror. He stood in front of it, eyes closed, then when curiosity drove him to open his eyes, he did.

And almost died.

Oh, no, she wouldn't... He had to be dreaming... She wasn't that mean... No, he hadn't woken up yet...

Clint pinched himself had. It hurt. He was awake.

His hair was rumpled beyond all reason, in a very suggestive manner. There was a giant hickey on the back of his neck, completely impossible to miss. Clint still had his pyjama pans on, which was totally mortifying. And his shirt... His shirt... Oh, WHY Natasha?!

The shirt was totally white, except for the carefully printed words front and centre in black sharpie: Property of Natasha Romanoff.

Well, this was just wonderful. I mean, It's subtle, nobody had seen him, there was no boss in sight, Tony Stark was nowhere in the vicinity...

... But wait! There's more!

Tony managed to collect himself, and took a deep breath. He took one look at Clint's face, and totally lost it all over again. Wordlessly, Steve handed 10 bucks to Fury. At the same time, Pepper sighed.

"We'll, you win." She pulled out a five dollar bill, and gave it to Natasha. "Didn't think that you you'll actually go through with it." Natasha pocketed the five, and raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, really? Knowing me?" The two glanced at each other, and grinned. Right before Clint could hide under the table, Tony collected himself enough to snap a photo of him, in all his glory. There was no doubt in Clint's mind that his photo would appear, plastered everywhere, for the would to see, in less then 45 minutes. In despair, Clint curled up in the chair, and laid his head against the table.

"Barton." Acknowledged Fury.

"Boss." Muttered Clint, around a mouthful of table. The meeting resumed, Tony still giggling every now and then, when he glanced at Clint. Clint's eyes met Natasha's, a silent challenge clear in them. Natasha tapped the back of her neck, and smiled. When Clint went to get a better look, his vision of her neck was obstructed by the high collar on the uniform.

Clever, Romanoff.

Clint looked her in the eye again, Natasha's expression very easy to read indeed.

I dare you.

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